


Breathless

by Quinny_555



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: A Little Comfort But Mostly Hurt, Drowning, Gen, Hurt Malcolm Bright, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: “Now we can get to the fun part,” he said. Malcolm didn't want to find out what the fun part was; he figured that he wouldn't be afforded that luxury.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 114





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just Malcolm whump. You've been warned.

Malcolm couldn't help but feel like the universe had something against him. Maybe a personal vendetta of sorts. If not the universe itself, then maybe some sort of deity he had pissed off. He figured that there was no way he would be this unlucky otherwise. He didn't even have to actively chase trouble; it found him all on its own. He was just walking home, that’s all. Granted, he  _ was _ working a serial killer case, but still, this didn't happen constantly to his coworkers. 

An arm shot out of the alley he was passing, snagging his coat sleeve and pulling him into the alley. He stumbled, not expecting the sudden direction change, and his assailant used the imbalance as leverage to shove him against the wall. He gasped as his head connected with the bricks. He saw spots dancing in his vision. 

“What do they know about me?” the man hissed, voice much closer than Malcolm had been expecting. He clenched his jaw, staring the man down. He was taller than Malcolm (though that wasn't unusual) and had dark hair that was long enough to fall into his mud-brown eyes. “Answer me.” Malcolm punched the other man as hard as he could from his position. The man stumbled a step back, and Malcolm turned to run. He felt hands on his shoulders and his head connected with the brick wall again, and then nothing. 

... 

Malcolm opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The low light in the room sent a sharp pain through his head and he winced. The floor was hard and cold, especially since he was only wearing his pants and shirt; his belt, shoes, socks, watch, tie, and suit jacket were all missing. The other victims had been found wearing nothing but their undergarments, so he guessed he was lucky that his pants and shirt were left. His victim choice was seemingly random, as they had been of all ages, races, sexes, and socioeconomic backgrounds. From what the team could tell, this guy didn't care what kind of person they were as long as he could cause them pain. 

“Looks like sleepy head is finally up,” he heard from behind him. Suddenly the killer was right in front of him. When did he get there, and oh, he definitely had a concussion. There was a large bruise forming on the side of the man's face and Malcolm felt a surge of fleeting satisfaction. “I've been dying to have some fun,” he continued casually as he knelt in front of Malcolm, who was only just realizing that the reason he couldn't move his hands was because they were chained above his head. 

“Wha- what's your name?” Malcolm managed, though his tongue felt heavy. That was unfortunate; his tongue was his best weapon. 

“If you must know, my name is Hayden,” he said, flashing a charming smile. Hayden looked giddy, like a kid in a candy store. 

“Hayden-” 

“Hush,” Hayden cut him off as he turned him onto his back. Malcolm winced at the sudden movement. He panicked when the larger man moved to straddle his hips, his sudden resistance earning him a slap. His cheek stung and Hayden clicked his tongue. “Don't be stupid.” 

Hayden pulled a knife out of his back pocket, the sight of it sending a whole new wave of panic through Malcolm. There was a phantom pain where Watkins had stabbed him before and he shook his head. His hands were of no use and Hayden’s superior weight had him pinned. 

“Stop moving,” Hayden hissed as he began cutting away Malcolm’s shirt. He cut it so that he could pull it off without removing the cuffs, which is what he proceeded to do. 

“You don't have to do this,” Malcolm managed, his concussed brain spitting out mostly half-formed thoughts that he couldn't grab hold of. 

“Sure don't,” Hayden answered as though Malcolm’s statement had been a question. 

“My team-” he was cut off by Hayden’s laughter. 

“Your team is a joke, pretty boy,” he said, grabbing Malcolm’s face and forcing his wandering eyes to focus on him. “Besides, I don't want to talk about them. I want to focus on you.” 

“Me…?” Malcolm knew he was losing control of the conversation, if he ever had it, but it was like those half-formed thoughts- gone too fast for him to catch. 

“Yes, you. You're a very interesting person, from what I can tell.” Malcolm didn't like that- in fact, he hated it. He knew that having the attention of a killer was bad, from both work and personal experience. The Surgeon? Bad. Watkins? Bad. Hayden? Definitely bad. Again, with the universe hating him. 

The concrete was freezing against his bare shoulders and he shivered. Hayden sat back on his heels and pulled his hair out of his face. He tied it up into a small bun and grinned. 

“Now we can get to the fun part,” he said. Malcolm didn't want to find out what the fun part was; he figured that he wouldn't be afforded that luxury. He was proven right when the chain connecting his wrists to the ground was unhooked from the floor and he was dragged across the room. Hayden didn't sound like he was struggling to drag Malcolm’s dead weight, but Malcolm supposed that there wasn't much weight to drag. 

He was a little surprised to notice that Hayden didn't re-bolt him to the floor. He probably didn't think he needed to; he was probably right. Malcolm was ever the realist, and he knew that he was extremely out of it. He didn't even want to do the math on how badly this affected his chances of escaping. Hands were suddenly on his shoulders and he was pulled to his knees. 

He blinked the spots from his vision and felt his heart jolt at the sight before him. A water basin, filled to the brim. He could guess what was coming next, even with his impaired cognitive abilities. Every victim had sustained different injuries, ranging from cuts to broken bones and everything in between. 

Hands were suddenly in his hair, gripping the strands tightly and yanking his head back. An involuntary whimper escaped his throat and Hayden chuckled. He pressed a hand between Malcolm's shoulder blades and pushed him until his chest was against the edge of the water basin. His other hand continued to grip his hair so that his head was pulled uncomfortably far back. 

“H-Hayden, listen to me, if anything happens to me my t-” he started, voice strained. 

“You know why this is my favorite method?” Hayden talked over him. Malcolm tried to shake his head and the grip on his hair tightened. “Because you can feel their struggling get weaker and weaker until they can't fight you anymore. There’s always a kick of energy right before they run out entirely, but that just makes the final release that much better.” he leaned closer to Malcolm’s ear. “What does that tell you about me, profiler?” he whispered. Before Malcolm could even start to form any kind of response his head was under the water. 

He didn't struggle, knowing that that was exactly what Hayden wanted. He also knew that Hayden wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. Eventually, the lack of air, pressure on his chest, and the still unrelenting grip on his hair became too much and he kicked out. Hayden trapped his legs with his own and Malcolm thrashed. After what felt like an eternity, his head was pulled out of the water. He gasped wildly as soon as his head broke the surface. 

“It feels good after waiting so long for it, doesn't it?” Hayden said breathlessly. Malcolm continued to pull in as much air as possible. It sounded like he was hyperventilating, but Hayden tilted his head curiously. “Are you oxygen loading?” he asked. Malcolm ignored him even though that was exactly what he was doing. “Smart cookie.” his head was back under the water again. He had more oxygen to work with this time, but Hayden also had more information to work with. He held his head under longer this time. He pulled his head up again, letting him take a breath, but forced his head back under almost immediately after. He knew he was screwed when his body immediately began fighting again. He bucked against the body pinning him as fight or flight took over. 

It was too long, he was under too long, he couldn't hold his breath any longer, his body was going to force him to breath any second now and he would drown. His lungs seized and water pushed past his lips. He choked, his body trying to both get rid of the water in his lungs and pull in air at the same time. Hayden pulled him back up and water spilled out of his mouth. He hacked and coughed, water burning its way out of his lungs. 

“Oh, now we’re cooking with fire,” Hayden said giddily, pushing his head back under before he could take a full breath. His lungs pulled in more water before he knew what was happening and he tried to cough it up. It was too long, he was going to pass out, the black was already encroaching on the edges of his vision. Hayden pulled him back up and his lungs burned viscously. Before he knew it he was back under the water, the vicious cycle starting again. He wasn't sure when he lost the fight for consciousness, but he was sure that it was a long time. 

He was pulled back from the void by pain in his chest.  _ Chest compressions,  _ his mind supplied, but he was content to stay in the inky blackness. He felt nothing there. However, the choice was not left up to him as the pain intensified suddenly. Water was expelled from his lungs and he was turned onto his side. With each cough, pain throbbed in his ribs, he was sure two of them were cracked. He was turned back onto his back once water stopped pouring from his lungs. Hayden knelt over him, pupils blown with a wide smile on his face. 

“You're beautiful when you're in pain. Especially your eyes; so expressive,” he said breathlessly. Malcolm panted in between hacking coughs. He let his head fall to the side as his eyes slid closed. Hayden grabbed his face and forced his attention back to him. “How about round two?” despite Malcolm shaking his head he was hauled back to the water basin. He sobbed quietly as his chest was pushed against the rim of the basin. The hand in his hair loosened slightly. 

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” Hayden said softly and kissed the back of Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm squirmed and the hand in his hair tightened again before he was forced back under the water. 

By the time Malcolm passed out again he was hallucinating. Every time he was pulled back up he was greeted by his father’s disappointed face. Malcolm wished that he would at least be helpful. The darkness was so inviting and he welcomed it gratefully when it washed over him. The pain was back soon enough and he was pulled back into the real world. More chest compressions, someone breathing for him, more water pouring out of his lungs. He hacked and coughed, but didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see Hayden staring back at him, hear him talk about how pain was a good look on him. He felt hands on his arms again and lashed out. He threw his elbow in the direction he thought Hayden would be. He connected and the hands let go, his mind was screaming at him to  _ run _ , and who was he to deny it? He bolted, but his chain brought him up short. He landed back on his knees and curled up into a ball, trying to protect his sore chest. The next time someone touched him he screamed, but they didn't let go. 

“Bright,  _ Bright, _ ” it sounded like Dani, but, but wasn't he hallucinating? He peeked his head out to see Dani’s anxious face. He blinked. Noise was filtering back in, more voices. Not Hayden. He could be experiencing a psychotic break, but… anything was better than going back to the water basin. He flung himself at Dani, shaking like a leaf as she held him, whispering soothing nonsense to him. He could see Gil standing behind her sporting bloody nose, and wondered if he had done that. 

Everything was a blur after that. He was pulled away by the paramedics eventually, but he doesn't remember the drive to the hospital. He does remember waking up to Gil crying silently while gripping his hand like he thought he might disappear. Gil quickly wiped his face upon seeing that Malcolm was awake. 

“Hey, kid, how do you feel?” Gil asked quietly.

“‘M okay,” he managed, almost immediately falling back asleep after. And, surprisingly enough, he was. Well, to a degree. Eventually, he would have to face the trauma that the whole encounter caused, but for now he was floating on a cloud of pain killers. He understood why his mother loved her pills so much. For now, he was okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly sure what this is, but I was awake until 4 in the morning writing it, so here you go.


End file.
